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Fiction by Kevin J. O'Reilly

May 2004

Long ago in the Holy Isles there were three fellows. These were not just friends but great warriors renowned for their courage and strength in battle. They always fought together and protected each other. A chief with these fellows in allegiance counted himself very lucky indeed.

These fellows travelled the countryside and offered their services in protection of the common folk to drive away raiders and murderers. Wherever they were needed they never failed to appear and serve the community.

Their price was always high but such renowned warriors were so successful and in demand that the common folk accepted the price even when it brought much hardship in itself. Better to struggle on in safety, than to suffer the risk of death and destruction, which would also bring strife.

Quietly some said that these warriors only fought at battles when the opposing chief did not bribe them to stay away. They have been known to turn up at the battle ground too late to take part, claiming being set upon by many assailants and having to fight their way free. No one called question to this as they always fought as three together and it was too easy to lose your head!

But the fellows were very rich and lived like kings. They owned the best cattle in the Holy Isles and maintained an impenetrable hill fort. They were the heroes of the land, raising morale and bringing great cheer. Some Bards even elevating them almost to god status but these were regarded as rogues who disturbed the balance. Nonetheless life was very good for these fellows.

Very few people knew them well and only they knew the truth.

In truth they were evil and immoral, with no respect or regard for any other living thing. They stood in true allegiance as a means of self defence but that was the only true thing about them.

The reason they always appeared to help downtrodden villages and farms was because they themselves robbed and pillaged, killing all witnesses, and not because they rode hard day and night as they claimed. Indeed their vileness knew no bounds and they often laughed and mocked their victims by their night time camp fire.

Often, a poor stranger would be murdered and his head offered as evidence of the destruction of raiders or enemies where in fact they had been the instrument of the plight to strike the area. It was evil most foul but time was coming for the three fellows to change or suffer a long cold void.

One day, when at the height of their strength and power they besmirched a great foe and rode the neighbourhood bearing the heads of the rogues and received great cheering, oh, and payment. The heads of four poor merchants were offered as proof, their bodies weighted down in a lake and their goods stolen by the three fellows.

Oh how they laughed and jollied at the camp fire that night. But then came the morning...

It was the start of a hot summer day, the insects buzzed and the birds sang, and yes, somewhere a dog barked. The three fellows had slept late because of their feast of roast boar and mead provided by the good folk of the district but no one disturbed their camp. Not even a curious child approached. One by one the three fellows awoke.

Slowly, it dawned on each of them that their feet were very cold, almost ice cold in fact and none of them could understand it. When one spoke of his dilemma, each of the other two incredulously added their own predicament.

Breakfast was started and each one tried to warm their feet by the fire to no avail. Finally, wearing their warmest winter footwear in vain effort to warm their feet, the three fellows struck camp and moved out.

The following day the coldness had seeped above the ankle and their legs were becoming as cold as their feet. Worried, the three discussed what to do and decided to seek advice from the lands most fabled healer, a Druid who was four days ride away. For once, the three fellows really did ride day and night in urgency. By the time they arrived the coldness was just below their knees and the tiredness fuddled their brains, and the healer wasn't there but was out healing and not expected back for two days so the three fellows caught up on their sleep only to awake to coldness from foot to thigh. The healer was not due for another day and no threat nor cajole could gain advice on how to find nor summon him earlier. And when he arrived he was a she.

To the fellows infuriation the Druid would not see them straight away and everyone avoided them in their black mood. Two and a half hours later a nervous youth asked the fellows to come into the communal hall.

As they entered the hall a large fire crackled in the centre despite the heat of the day and the chief sat on a log bench with the Druid standing behind him and a trainee Bard behind her. The chief's champion stood to one side and several armed men stood around the hall. The younger of these twitched nervously and would probably flee or freeze if called upon and the three fellows grunted.

They laid down their arms to show their peaceful intentions and greeted the chief respectfully and offered some skins as a gift. The chief's eyes never left theirs as he courteously accepted. The skins had belonged to a merchant...

An awkward silence followed as the three had expected a quiet word with the healer and did not wish to show weakness to the chief and his retinue. Finally after the chief prompted they asked for a discrete meeting with the Druid healer on a personal matter. The chief discussed this sotto-voce with the healer.

The chief was reluctant to expose his Druid as he did not trust the fellows but at the Druid's bidding he agreed to leave the hall with his retinue as long as the three left all their weapons outside and the chief's champion was to guard the outer doorway. The three agreed. The Druid's trainee was to remain.

The Druid healer was renowned for her great skill. Not only did she have an affinity with the plants, she was adept at spiritual healing too as the two were often related. She felt bad things here and was not sure how to safely progress the surgery as she listened without reaction.

Finally, when the tale was told, the Druid sat on the bench and cast dried herbs onto the fire. The flames crackled and sparkled as a strong smell filled the hall. The healer sat looking into the flames.

The three thought that she was meditating and seeking augury. Indeed, augury came to her, but during the telling and she needed to think how to broach the subject. The herbs would infuse calm and aid her task. Eventually she decided that bluntness was the only way and not to draw out the situation as this may infuriate the three fellows despite her care.

Speaking without moving, not even her eyes, the Druid asked what teachings on the soul the three had received as children and as one they all scoffed. Stillness seized the Druid, far beyond her of previous lack of movement. Fear tacked up the backs of all three fellows until settling on the back of their necks where hair stood like poplar trees. She had their respect and attention now.

She told them that they were deceptive fellows and not at all what they seemed. She told them that their souls were fragmented by their lifestyle and attitude. She told them that a body died from the feet upwards and that they were dying.

The fire crackled and sparks spat at the three startling them fearfully. Suddenly they were kittens. They did not argue, scoff or smirk. They trembled just a little.

It would take a complete change of heart to survive she told them. Callous disregard had led them to this critical point and they had a choice. By truly caring for others and helping honestly they could start to recall their soul fragments. When they die, a fragmented soul meant coldness and solitude on the otherside until the soul could reconstitute itself. They would then face great trial in their next physical existence.

To continue as they were would see a physical deterioration. Good acts and a respectful lifestyle would enable a recovery. They may die before the recovery was complete but the true goodness would make a strong platform for spiritual recovery even into the otherside.

It was silent in the great hall. Only the fire crackled to fill the void and then the Druid turned away. One by one the three fellows left the hall in a stunned state and recovering their weapons, they went to set camp outside the hill fort. Never before had their weapons seemed futile, never had they seemed so heavy and a burden.

By the time camp was set the boldest of the three was starting to recover his demeanour and was almost brash in trashing the nonsense spoken by the Druid. In fact by the time a few jugs of mead had passed their lips, each of them mocked and chided their foolishness in going there.

As they struck camp the next day each of them tried to be noisy and ignore the growing coldness but the uneasiness nibbled at them all. When they were about to leave without the courtesy of thanking the chief for his hospitality and saying farewell they became aware of the Druid's trainee standing close by. The youth was nervous but composed. The youngest of the three approached the youth who only slightly twitched. The trainee was a gifted seer and an excellent student of the harp.

He suggested that the three should not forget to show the chief proper respect before leaving and warned them that there was no one path set before them but several and their fate lay in their own hands, and then he walked away.

The three shrugged in disinterest but then the youngest said that it wouldn't hurt as they may want to earn some easy money off the chief one day. This was a good reason that satisfied the conceit of the others and so they formally went to thank the chief and the Druid before taking their leave.

For two days they wandered aimlessly with only brief interludes of gaiety to relieve the fear in the pit of their stomachs for no matter how they dismissed the Druid, the coldness just seemed to spread. A lot of thinking time went by and then, over the horizon came a youth on a lathered and bedraggled horse.

He was delirious and almost ran into the three who were trying to avoid him. When he saw them he tried to turn the frightened horse around to escape but the horse stumbled and he fell heavily to the ground. The youth jabbered senselessly and tried to gain his feet and escape but he was weak and light headed.

It was obvious that he carried nothing of worth, not even his horse. The three turned to move on, sensing no gain here.

As they moved away, the youth, relieved at first not to be in danger, suddenly panicked. He bid them to stop, he needed help. Maybe he sounded well educated or brought up but something in his speech and tone made the three stop and look around.

The youth explained that four men had rode into their home and began raiding the food stores. His father was struck down and killed, his brother was subdued and his mother and sister were seized. He grabbed a horse at his brothers shouted bidding to ride for help. At first one of the attackers made chase but he got away from him. He needed help to save his mother and siblings.

All three fellows were amazed at these men allowing one to escape, and what's this taking the brother prisoner? The mother and sister may have had sporting reasons to allow them to live temporarily but all should die. Slave trading crossed the three's minds but who needed the hassle of moving unwilling people in bonds?

So what reward was there for helping the youth? He promised everything he could think of that had value to his family but two of the three scoffed and all turned away. The youth tried one last desperate attempt, screaming for help.

To the amazement of the other two, the youngest of the three stopped his horse. He said that he did not want to die from the feet up and wanted to give his soul a chance to recover and he turned back to help the youth. The other two were totally shocked but having looked at each other, they moved off.

The following day the two remaining fellows were cold to the stomach and if each doubted their resolve it didn't show as they struck camp after breakfast. They had nowhere to go except to their hill fort so with unspoken consent they headed home.

Soon they came across a traveller stranded by the roadside. It was a Bard who had suffered foot blisters and a nasty twisted ankle. He bid them good day as they approached but they saw no worth here and ignored his plight.

As he realised that they were ignoring him and passing by he called to them in appeal. He was on urgent business from the Druid Council and needed help completing his quest due to his indisposition. He was heading the opposite way to them but the two didn't care if he was going where they were, they wouldn't help.

After about three miles the second youngest stopped his horse and declared that he was going back to help the Bard achieve his task. The first one scoffed and rode slowly away. The other fellow watched him for a few minutes but never in doubt as to what he must do, then he turned his horse around to help the Druid.

Many thoughts went through the head of the third fellow as he rode alone. He scoffed often at the softening of the head suffered by his former comrades. The thought that they would not soon ride again as before never occurred to him.

But dark thoughts nibbled at his mind. During the day he dismissed them but at night he could not defend his mind against their onslaught. So they following day, cold and unable to face breakfast, he broke camp and moved on. Soon he knew that he had wandered without conscious thought and was lost.

Suddenly he spotted someone down on their knees by a stream so he headed there to ask directions. It struck him odd as this was an old crone, wrinkled and bent, washing clothes in the stream in the middle of nowhere. He approached and was shocked when he realised that there was blood in the water off the clothes. The hairs jumped up on the back of his neck and he cursed himself for uncharacteristic carelessness but a swift look around revealed nothing but desolate countryside.

If the crone was aware of him she made no sign so he addressed her by asking about her task. Just as he thought she would ignore him or was deaf she looked up. Her eyes were as cold and as black as the grave. In measured tones she told him that she was washing the clothes of a great warrior who had died defending downtrodden poor folk. The fellow considered the man a fool, not a hero. He would never take foolish risks nor act without generous recompense.

And then the words of the Druid came to him and he felt as though he had been struck. The crone just watched him. He was uncomfortable under her unblinking stare and shuffled in his saddle. For the first time in his adult life he felt awkward and didn't know what to do. And then she spoke without prompt.

It was an act against fear, one of great courage, a fight that could not be won but that would bring beneficial change to many folk of humble means she told him. The warrior had done himself great service and had gone to the Halls of Waiting in the Summerlands ready for his next adventure. This time the fellow did not scoff but was transfixed by the clothes in the water, he recognised them but where from?

The crone looked away just then and he followed her gaze to where a young girl was riding over the ridge. She looked distressed and when she saw the Fellow she changed direction to approach him. He immediately wished he was elsewhere.

With big eyes and trembling, she asked the Fellow to help her. Her folk were poor farmers and a new chief was demanding tributes from them that were well beyond their capabilities. He wanted their fertile land and was systematically seizing farms and enslaving the good folk. She had been to town and knew that the chief and a war band were heading to her home. Her brother had gone to raise the alarm and she was seeking help as no one in the town would come forward.

As he was making his excuses the girl pleaded with him, she seemed oblivious to the presence of the old crone. The crone made a noise in her throat and the Fellow looked at her. Her cold eyes bit into the chill in his body and instantly he knew it was soul deep. He feared some Druid trickery, it never occurred to him that the Druid had gone about her work after he left and he wasn't the centre of the universe after all.

The girl tugged on his sleeve and he turned back to her, fear gnawing at him. Her eyes pleaded and he wavered. Okay, he thought. he could go and try to negotiate some peace and gain something for himself but if it came to it he would bow out or join the chief but he would not put himself at risk.

The chief and his war band numbered about twelve strong as they stood on horse back above the farmer and his family standing defiantly in front of them. It was obvious that the farmer, pitch fork in hand, was determined to make a stand and was facing defamatory remarks until the retinue would become bored and despatch the man. The Fellow took this in as they rode up to the farm and they came remarkably close before the band spotted them. Careless he thought, stupid arrogance can kill you.

He expected mockery from them but they looked uncomfortable being caught out in their murderous thievery. He knew that none could recognise him at least until he was closer and indeed someone near the right hand end of the line did and the word travelled the line before he stopped in front of the farmer. The band started looking around, obviously expecting two more Fellows and worried as to where they were.

He addressed the chief respectfully and asked if he needed so many warriors to confront a farmer with a pitch fork. No one smiled. The Fellow said that he offered himself as the farmers champion and challenged the chief directly. He was stunned at his own words. There was no going back now yet the words came from his heart and he spoke them with certainty, not hesitantly.

If any of the chiefs retinue were his champion they did not leap forward in defence and they all looked around much more nervously now. The chief called one forward. He was a brute of a man, battle scarred and fierce looking he nonetheless came forth hesitantly. The Fellow accepted the challenge.

The fight was carried out on foot. It was savage and the brute took heart in a flanking blow that injured the Fellow. He realised that years of having someone protecting him had made him sloppy but he used his skill to pull the man into a position where the same attack was plausible and when the man took the bait, the Fellow despatched him to the Halls of Waiting. He took his head as trophy and gave it to the farmer. The chief looked worried but called another forward.

As no other Fellows had appeared and this one had an injury, another warrior stepped forward, a young robust man. The Fellow accepted this challenge but told the chief that he was next as no other would satisfy the need for justice. The chief blanched but the Fellow was hurt and thought the injury may be worse than it looked, he needed to remove the threat of this chief.

The young man was crude and not very skilled but he was fast and the Fellow took a bad body blow that hurt very much, in instinct his sword arm brought a stunning blow to the young mans head and then he followed up with the final strike before claiming his trophy for the farmer. He turned back to claim his right to fight the chief and the chief was very frightened. Although he had skill as a fighter he never fought with anyone who had a fair chance against him.

Just then the Fellow seemed distracted and looked down at himself and his injuries. Suddenly the chief thought that here was an easy victory and became keen to meet the fight. In fact he was only half right...

The Fellow knew that he was seriously hurt and for the first time in his life, he thought that he would die. He doubted that he had the strength left to fight the chief and looked down at his body. As he viewed the blood soaked clothing he saw the stream in his mind and the crone washing out his clothes. HIS! He was shocked for a moment and then he realised that he could not fail.

The chief dismounted and drew his sword. Half way out of his scabbard he stopped as the Fellow did something strange. The Fellow remembered tales of great heroes that fought with no shield but a sword in each hand. Indeed, he knew that warriors in Erin trained this way still. Although he had not learned the skills and had no idea how to fight this way, he stooped to recover the fallen sword from his last adversary and stood ready.

The cowardly chief thought he had made a mistake and berated himself for drawing his sword. Had he not done so, he would have insisted on another champion to represent him but he would never retain his rank if he did so now, so he tentatively attacked the Fellow.

The Fellow was uncertain and awkward and this encouraged the chief. It became obvious that the Fellow was weakening and it seemed a matter of time as the Fellow's blood dampened and stained the dirt. Indeed the Fellow himself felt it was over as he was so weak and his vision was no longer clear and steady.

Just then he stumbled back but the cowardly chief, suspecting a ruse, did not move in to finish the Fellow. Everyone was stunned to silence and the Fellows eyes met those of the farmer.

The farmer's eyes showed a mixture of thanks, pity and great sorrow. Just then the Fellow spotted a Raven on a fence post. It had the same cold eyes as the crone at the stream and then a surge of great strength came to him and he knew the fight was won though his life was lost.

The chief had judged that the Fellow was finished and made an instant decision to move in for the kill just as the Fellow was coming to strength. The chief lunged forward with his sword swinging above his head and shield arm out straight as counter-poise.

The Fellow rose swiftly to meet him, taking the sword blow away with the sword in his left hand and chopping the chiefs shield arm clean off at the elbow with his own sword. The chief was surprised beyond pain at the initial onslaught but was defenceless against what followed.

The Fellow did not know where the skill, knowledge and ability came from but he fought with great skill with each sword in unison maintaining a severe mauling that quickly reduced the chief to a sorry state, dead as a man can be. The Fellow took and offered his last trophy as the blackness came to the edges of his eyes and his legs gave way.

All present were stunned. Here was a hero of epic proportions and they never thought to ever meet one, let alone witness such prowess and courage in action. The stillness was broken by a young member of the war band dismounting his horse and moving to stand over the fallen Fellow. All eyes went to him.

He knelt on one leg and reverently touched the fallen hero. Speaking quietly and slowly he swore that he had not fallen in vain. The young warrior was the brother of the cowardly chief and had long been appalled by his brother's tyranny. He swore that all wrongs would be righted and that from that day everyone would be released from the obscene tributes and all lands would be restored to their rightful owners and if possible, compensation would be offered if it could be raised.

Then he declared that a hero's funeral needed tending to. Justice was served and a soul was restored.